


The Case of the Abingdon Estate

by Queen__Queer



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1880s, Anxiety, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Depression, Dissociation, Eldritch, Epistolary, F/F, Gothic, Horror, Inspired by Dracula, Inspired by H. P. Lovecraft, Lovecraftian, Mental Health Issues, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Possession, Psychological Horror, Suicide, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29521332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen__Queer/pseuds/Queen__Queer
Summary: It is through many years of research that I finally have compiled the full events of what conspired at the Abingdon Estate during the late 19th Century. It is a tale told through letters and diary entries, a newspaper clipping and an interview. Enclosed is the story of Francine “Frances” Tamworth and Calliope Lowestoft.I wrote this for my English class, we had to write something in the Gothic Horror genre, and wanted to post it somewhere.
Relationships: Francine "Frances" Tamworth/Calliope Lowestoft





	The Case of the Abingdon Estate

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty proud of this considering the assignment was to write a 2-3 page short story and this ended up being...31 pages. Also wrote this over the span of like 4 days and edited it once so.  
> It never gets super gore-y or even as disturbing as I would have wanted it to be but there's plenty of dark themes and one or two particularly darker scenes.

It is through many years of research that I finally have compiled the full events of what conspired at the Abingdon Estate during the late 19th Century. It is a tale told through letters and diary entries, a newspaper clipping and an interview. Enclosed is the story of Francine “Frances” Tamworth and Calliope Lowestoft.

* * *

_‘My dearest Calliope,_

_My dear it has been far too long since we last spoke. I do believe it was the beginning of March that we last saw each other and the end of the same month that we last wrote. Much has changed for me. I believe I told you about my Aunt’s passing? A shame, yes, though I shan’t say I knew her well enough to warrant very much mourning. I have allowed myself a week at most to wear all black but life must continue on, and I do intend on continuing it._

_Speaking of life continuing, that is exactly what I am writing to you about (though I do also enjoy the company of your letters on journeys like this). And yes, you did read that correctly, I_ am _in fact on a journey. It is cold without you here to warm me but I must make do. I am going up to Borthwick (I believe one of my mother’s old lady’s maids had that as her last name, I wonder if her family was named after the town or the town named after a family, I haven’t the faintest idea of which) to inherit my late Aunt’s estate. She, much like myself, was not one for formalities so, when she wrote up her will without a next of kin I was placed as the main beneficiary of her possessions despite my not being a son. So I am on the journey up to the estate now. I am sure by the time this reaches you I will already be touring the grounds._

_Apologies for my poor penmanship, the roads are not smooth ones up here._

_I haven’t much else to say for the time being. I shall write again once I’ve gotten a look around the estate. Perhaps, if I find it fit, you should like to visit? I remember you speaking of your wishes to see the sea and I would love nothing more than to make that wish come true._

_Please do write back if you have the time._

_Your truly,_

_Frances’_

_‘Frances,_

_Oh how good it is to receive this letter. It has been indeed far too long since we saw each other and I dread the day life pulls us apart like this again. You did indeed tell me of your Aunt. If I remember correctly she was the one who you visited that one summer in your teen years? The one who your mother said dressed a bit queerly? It was indeed saddening to hear of her passing._

_I also haven’t a clue whether the town or the person was named first, though depending on how old the town is there may not be much of a difference. Perhaps you could ask some of the locals if you’ve got the time? I hope you enjoy the tour of the estate, is that all you received or are you trying not to brag? (Oh Lord, the problem with letters, you can’t get the tone across properly, I hope you know that I am teasing you, I don’t mean to sound greedy if that is how it came across.) But anyway, keep safe, if that house hasn’t been well used I would watch the floors on the upper levels, I’d hate to hear you got injured because you went jumping around an old building. (Or jumping about the countryside, you don’t know Scotland well, be careful.)_

_Your penmanship isn’t that bad, don’t worry. The ink has only smudged slightly in some places._

_I would certainly love to visit sometime in the future and I do believe you once promised you’d take me to see the sea?_

_I always have the time to write back to you, my love._

_Stay safe, yours,_

_Calliope Lowestoft_

_P.S. Does this make you a Lady now?’_

‘May 16th, 188-

The Abingdon Estate is not a large one by Estate standards though that is not saying much by any means. It’s still far larger than most people would consider a big house. The house has been unused for some time so I’ve had to listen to Calliope’s warnings and not go galavanting around quite yet. The former Estate Steward (I’m going to keep him on my staff if I do move in, it will make it much easier) gave me the proper tour and does seem to trust the architecture. He told me that while no one has lived here for some time, housekeepers and himself have still been keeping things clean and living in the servants quarters elsewhere on the property. The way he spoke of it almost made it sound like there is a ghost causing havoc that made the staff not want to live in the house. The man himself is in his late-20s but his eyes were pushing 40, perhaps even older. It does make me wonder what sort of horrors he has seen.

Was there not a war recently that he may have fought in? We do always seem to be at war nowadays. I should ask him, I would rather see my own end than see my staff not taken care of.

That is beside the point, the house is lovely and later this week I am going to be shown the rest of the property. I would like to ask about the history of the Estate, it seems like it was once very well lived in and I am curious as to what happened in between those past residents and my Aunt receiving it. It would be about this time in my ramblings that Calliope would try to stop me before I accidently start spreading rumors of demons. However, she is not here and this is my private journal, so there. Perhaps there’s a demon or ghoul of some sort haunting the place. It would most certainly make my life more interesting if so.

I miss not having Calliope to ramble to. I know it would not exactly be professional of me but what about me fits into the norms, taking a childhood friend with me would not exactly draw more attention than my mere existence already does. I should have sent her a letter before leaving. I should have asked if she’d accompany me. It’s no matter now, I cannot undo what’s been done and I shall be returning home at the end of the month and once I do, I will be meeting with my beloved after far too long apart. But now, I must return to the tour of the Estate (and I must ask the Estate Steward his name again, I’m afraid it slipped my mind).’

_‘Dearest Calliope,_

_She was in fact the one my mother questioned the fashion taste of. She is also the one I styled my own clothing choices on in my earlier years of being allowed to dress myself._

_I will most certainly ask about the town name should I find the time and I’ll write you immediately upon receiving an answer. The Estate was not the only thing left to me in my Aunt’s will (and you mustn’t worry about tone, I know you well enough to know when you tease) but it is the main thing. She has left some clothes as well along with some family heirlooms. My brothers would have been jealous were all her belongings not a bit too feminine for their taste. Though, there was a brief moment where I caught Lawrence gazing longfully at a pocketwatch left to me. Please do not fret about my brothers not receiving their fair share of my Aunt’s property, I can’t remember what they got specifically but they certainly got plenty._

_I will of course stay safe for you but the Estate Steward, one Mr. Oscar Jones, insists that the floors caving in is the last thing I will have to worry about._

_Take care._

_Much love,_

_Frances_

_P.S. Technically yes, though I’d much rather be referred to as a_ Lord _than a Lady.’_

**‘16th May, 188-**

**ANNOUNCEMENT TO ALL MEMBERS OF STAFF:**

**A quick reminder to please keep a close eye on Miss Francine Tamworth while she is here. We would certainly hate to have a repeat of the former fiasco. And do keep in mind that you are not to speak of the events of 1867, there is a reason we had that winter wiped from all records. I alone get to decide if Miss Tamworth will do and I alone will make you all aware if she is to move in. You have no need to fret and for the love of God-  
Do. Not. Warn. Her.**

**Must I stress how much of a pain it was to find a new gardener after Lady Abingdon was warned against moving in? Do not do the same with her niece or you will join Mr. Williams. I will update you all again when I have decided what to do with her. This week is to go as smoothly as possible, I believe I am understood on that front.  
O. Jones’**

‘ABINGDON HOUSE: NEW RESIDENT

17th of May, 188-

Apologies to bother you, sir, I know it is one of your few days of rest but I feel this is an urgent matter. My father has spotted a carriage on its way up to the house and it is far fancier than that of the servants and housekeepers which can only mean one thing…

I have yet to catch a glimpse of who may be inside but there have been whispers and it does not take a highly educated man to guess what sort of person would make their way up to that abandoned house. I pray that they make their way into town so that we may convince them to leave the house as is. Perhaps they are simply looking it over and have no intent of moving in? Oh I should stop kidding myself. I should also end this letter before I waste too much of your time.

I will see you at work tomorrow. Take care, sir.’

_‘My dear Calliope,_

_I have just returned from my visit to the town at the bottom of the hill from the estate. Oh it is just darling, you would have loved it, I’m sure. It is such a quaint little place and the people are lovely to be around. They, thankfully, didn’t treat me like some delicate little thing and I must respect the tone of assuming anyone who travels as far away from the city as this can care for themselves. Though, they did act a bit perturbed at my presence in general but I am sure that can be attributed to the probable lack of new faces around here but otherwise very kind, the lot of them._

_I did ask about the name of the town! Borthwick was the last name of the founder so the name came first! I was also told that the founder was some great figure! He supposedly buried a beast in the ground where the estate now sits. I should like to hear the full story if I am to stay, afterall, how am I supposed to properly settle in if I know not of the creature below where I sleep? I will have to ask the young boy who told me the story to finish it whenever I get the chance to visit again, which will likely be very soon. Oh! I got to meet the priest, Father Virgil. He seems a good man. He deals with most all of the affairs in the town, functions more as a mayor than merely a priest. For example, he looks over the schoolhouse and the boy who told me about the founder works for him as an assistant. When I asked the Father about his duties and how he keeps track of it all he joked that he has eyes everywhere and I suspect the boy, Simeon, makes up the most of those eyes._

_There was something off about Father Virgil, something off with the entire village, really. I could feel their eyes on the back of my head each time I would turn from them. I would spot their faces from the corner of my eye and they would appear grim but brighten up and put on a smile when I would face them. My mind races with the possibilities of what could cause them to put up such a facade and what would make them need to. I can only assume that there was recently a death in the village, or perhaps they are simply not much of a fan of aristocrats. I can hope it’s the former._

_Well, that is all for now. I will certainly write to you again very soon. I wish you well._

_Your dearest,_

_Frances’_

**‘25th May, 188-**

**TO ALL MEMBERS OF STAFF:**

**She will do nicely. Be kind, we must convince her to stay. That will be all.**

**O. Jones’**

‘June 2nd, 188-

I have decided to move into the estate! Mr. Jones and I have discussed it and we agree that the house should be lived in and I know my parents would be very happy to get me out of their house. I wrote to my father already and I will write to Calliope shortly. I am going to ask her to move in with me. I am sure people will talk but it is not _completely_ unheard of for women to move in with their friends even if this situation is more unusual than others. I hope she’ll say yes. I know that we would be so far out and away from everyone else but I think that is part of the appeal. Just the two of us out in the country, of course, back home the people will gossip but they always have gossiped about me. They are very poor whisperers. Oh, who am I kidding, they want me to hear them. I think they hope that if I hear them whispering I might change for them. Fit into their little box. I don’t wish to change how I dress and no matter how much my parents complain I won’t stop wearing men’s coats and shirts. They’re more comfortable, they just feel _right_. And I know that they aren’t _truly_ that upset by how I dress and more how I behave myself but…

I should stop rambling. Oh dear, even my own journal is too full of my endless thoughts of nonsense. I always take too long to get to the point. Mr. Jones told me of a basement level which he said the staff supposedly uses for storage space and that I needn’t ever go down to which is _exactly_ how to get me to go somewhere. I must admit I may be looking far too into it all but the grim faces on everyone in Borthwick mixed with Mr. Jones appearing to have seen too much for someone his age makes me think that there may be some sinister past to this estate and then I am told of a basement I should never go into? The universe is _begging_ me to live out my own mystery novel! Tonight I am going to sneak down there. I know there will likely be nothing but- I am _Lord_ of this estate and I am going to know every nook and cranny of it before Calliope moves in. I want to surprise her with how well I know this place and calm her nerves about the house possibly being ever so slightly in disrepair because if I know everything that must be repaired she has no reason to worry about me getting myself injured.

The staff has also started to move into the house since I have said that I am to stay. Tomorrow I start going through the lists of the staff members and deciding who stays (likely everyone), who leaves (I hope no one, they all seem nice though a bit cold at times), and what other roles I will need filled. I would like to, assuming I need more staff, take from people living in Borthwick, I think it will help the locals get more used to me and me more used to the locals. I don’t want to appear to them as merely someone who has swooped in to loom over them. No, I want to be kind. I may not always be nice, but I certainly strive to always be kind.

Just kind.’

_‘Frances,_

_I am glad that the people are kind and treat you well but you really must get over your vitriol of being treated like the Lady Lord you are. And no, I am not going to let you leave everything behind, cut your hair like a man’s, and run away to another country. ~~I need you here.~~ People need you here. And I am sure they are merely unused to the presence of someone like you and from what you’ve told me, that house has been unused for quite some time so their discomfort should almost be expected._

_It seems that is that question answered then! It does make sense that a town would be named after a person rather than a person named after a town. I will always be slightly perturbed at your love for the macabre but I should really expect it from you by now. Perhaps you can someday scare me with the story of the monster under your bed.  
~~You are going to move in?~~_

_Does something truly seem wrong or are you nervous? If you’d like I can ask an acquaintance of mine (Baroness Della Harris, you remember her, don’t you?) to take a look into any possible recent deaths or accidents occurring in and around Borthwick. Her husband keeps a library of records of that sort of thing. Oh! I just realized that if you are to move in, you’ll be able to visit her more often since she too lives in Scotland. I think you two may get along nicely. I’ll write to her and ask her to look into it. Don’t do anything stupid until we know if something is afoot._

_Stay safe my dear, please,_

_Calliope Lowestoft’_

‘June 3rd, 188-

I have been on edge since last night. It is currently half past noon and I find myself shaky and jumping at any sound or movement too sudden. The servers and my temporary lady’s maid noticed and asked about it but...there was an air about them that suggested that my nerves were _expected_. I guess it should be expected, the basement was incredibly off-putting and then I had a weird dream about the basement last night. The night and the dream are even blurring together. I should really try and get my thoughts together.

It was a quarter to 10, I had checked to make sure that Mr. Jones had gone to bed and I am sure that he did. I had slipped on a robe and a pair of slippers before lighting a candle to take down with me. The house was silent. During the day there was always some sort of sound even when none of the staff were around but at night it felt that all sound had been stripped from the world so the creaking of the floorboards were thunder at night in comparison. I found my way through to the kitchen and to the door to the basement. There was a lock on it, which struck me as odd, if the basement was truly only a storage space, and a very uninteresting storage space at that, what point would there be of locking it. Were I the type of person who got my joy from simple dinner parties I would have turned around and gone back to bed, but lucky for me, I always took joy from mystery novels, stories of misfits, and acting as unlady-like as possible and thus I learned how to pick a lock! As a child I think I fancied myself a bit of a detective. So, with the help of a few pins left in the pocket on my robe, the lock was off and the door opened.

As soon as the door was open, however, I was immediately bombarded with the worst feeling of dread I have ever felt. My urge to explore and know what may be lurking in the basement fought against my heart as it beat out of my chest and tried to run away from my person just to get away from the open door. My curiosity won out and as I descended the stairs to discover whatever was hidden below I could only think to myself, “ _Curiosity killed the cat_ ,” and once I finally reached the bottom of what was beginning to feel like a never ending staircase I allowed myself to finish the phrase with a whisper of, “But satisfaction brought it back.”

The basement was dark and dank. It smelled of mold. The air felt damp on my skin and heavy on my shoulders. There was no one there. I heard a voice. I think I did anyway, that part may have been the dream, it is at this point in my memory that the lines between fiction and reality blur. I am forced to believe that what actually happened is that I found nothing in the basement and, disappointed, returned to my bed only to have my mind concoct something interesting to fill where the uneventful adventure lay in my memory. So, I will behave as if what I remember after first entering the basement is only a very vivid dream.

Ah, where was I? The voice, right. It was deep and quiet, I felt it in my chest more than I heard it but what I did hear was horrid. The voice was nails on a chalkboard and then it spoke. In a language I could not comprehend it asked me a question and as the sound bounced about my ribs it switched to a language I recognized but could not understand before finally speaking in a language I know to ask, “You are the one he deems unfit for the grounds but fit for me?”

There was a drawl to the voice and the words would slur and stutter the way one does when they cannot speak a language well. The question it asked was aimed to the air and to itself instead of at me but when it spoke once more and asked, “Would you call yourself a lost soul-” it was clear by the way the words echoed behind my eyes that it was meant for me to answer. Before I could open my mouth to respond, however, it continued its sentence, “-who wanders without real meaning? Do you think there is a meaning for you to find in this world?”

“What?” I had managed to choke out. It felt like something was wrapping itself around my throat. I needed to leave. I couldn’t describe why but I needed to leave.

“Hm,” the thing was seemingly contemplating me. “You’ll do,” it finally decided. I couldn’t see the thing, I don’t think it was physically there in the first place. I was completely alone in the basement. ~~I am always alone.~~

The next thing I remember is waking up with a start with light streaming through the curtains. Birds were chirping and while I normally take a moment to appreciate the song of nature, all I could hear was the creature’s incomprehensible words. One of the housemaids who has been acting as my lady’s maid came in soon after to wake me and asked if I was feeling alright. I told her I was. I lied. I don’t think I should tell them what I dreamt of. It feels like a bad idea and I can’t describe why.’

_‘Baroness Harris,_

_I hope you have been getting along well since we last spoke and I hope your husband has been well too, I heard he recently fell ill and I pray that he recovers quickly. I am afraid I have a favor to ask of you and I feel I mustn’t waste much time. I know that you and your husband like to keep records of any news stories of note as he likes to write in his spare time and uses those stories for inspiration so I would like to ask if you could perhaps look for something specific for me? As I am sure you are aware my dear Francine has inherited the Abingdon Estate from her late Aunt and she has been writing to me about getting a strange feeling from the estate and the village below. Would you mind looking into any possible worrying going-ons regarding the Abingdon Estate and the village of Borthwick? I know I am one who worries easily but I did promise Francine that I would have you look into it, just in case._

_I wish you well and hope we can talk properly again soon._

_Sincerely,_

_Calliope Lowestoft’_

_‘Calliope, darling!_

_Thank you for asking about Lester, he is recovering well. I read your letter and was rather intrigued so I did go ahead and take a look to see if we had kept any notes on Borthwick and I did find something. It is a rather saddening story. I have attached the bit of the only newspaper that wrote about the event. It also seems that, were a Lord not involved, it is likely we never would have heard word of it. Once Lester is feeling better I will ask him about this story, he would have been fairly young at the time but I would like to know if he remembers it._

_We should definitely catch up sometime._

_Sincerely,_

_Della_

_**LORD ABINGDON INSTITUTIONALIZED: 17 November, 1867** _

_**Lord Abingdon was removed from the Abingdon Estate late last night by force under the orders of his older brother who was visiting for the week. Abingdon was described by onlookers as screaming about a “beast between worlds” that was supposedly trying to “eat at [his] soul” to “reach and destroy our reality” as he was dragged out.** _

_**Abingdon also accused Estate Steward Oscar Jones of making deals with the devil, but due to Abingdon’s state the accusations were taken as nothing more than the ramblings of a madman.** _

_**Jones was asked about Lord Abingdon’s state and only responded that, “A man from the city who suddenly found himself all alone in the countryside is bound to deal with...the drawbacks of isolation. And while it is really not my place to say, Lord Abingdon was not the most stable of people.”** ’_

_‘Baroness Della,_

_Thank you for the newspaper clipping. Do you know if Mr. Jones had a son by the same name by chance?_

_Sincerely,_

_Calliope Lowestoft_

_P.S. Apologies for the short letter, I don’t have very much to say._

_P.P.S. I think we’ll be able to catch up sooner than anticipated as I have been invited to live with Francine at the estate. It would be a shame to have such a lovely house so empty.’_

_‘Calliope,_

_Sorry for the late response, I had to do a bit further sleuthing to find that out but from what I can find out, no he didn’t seem to have any kids. At least, he didn’t at the time, who knows if he married afterwards._

_Sincerely,_

_Della_

_P.S. Well then we must plan a time to have tea together!’_

_‘Frances,_

_I am writing this on my journey up to you and am hoping it reaches you ~~in time~~ in a timely manner. You said that Mr. Jones had eyes too old for someone his age? When you told me that did you mean it literally or figuratively?_

_Secondly, that story about the village founder, did you ever get told the full story? You mentioned a beast, did you find out more about that?_

_Stay safe,_

_Calliope’_

‘Dear Lady Francine,

I am going to ask one of your staff to deliver this to you. When we met you showed a lot of interest in the story of Borthwick’s founding and I thought you would like to hear the full thing. I hope this isn’t a bother but I kept it short anyway as to not take too much of your time.

The story goes like so:

Years ago, Fletcher Borthwick was exploring late at night. He couldn’t sleep and thought he heard something so he took a lantern and started to walk. It was a warm night and he found himself walking near the cliff edge when he spotted something in the distance. It was easy to miss because it was so dark out but the main reason he noticed it, he said, was because he could _feel_ it watching him. Fletcher approached it and called out, asking who was there. The thing supposedly spoke, he said that its voice wasn’t like a person’s voice, it was off in some way. I think he said that its voice seemed like it was coming from inside his own head and that it sucked all warmth from the night air.

The creature told him, “You are lost.”

“I am not lost,” Fletcher said, “I am just walking.”

“Not walking, running. You run from something. Do you run from yourself?”

“I have no need to.”

“Then you are either gravely mistaken or painfully idiotic.”

It’s said he woke up the next day like he had never left the house. Weeks went by and he started to lose energy, he would wake up tired no matter how much he slept. He would be easily irritated but slow to make happy. It was like the man he was wasn’t fully there. Eventually, late at night, he went on another walk. He felt drawn to the cliffside once more and he saw the thing again.

“You again?” He asked.

“I never left,” it laughed back, “You would like me to go, wouldn’t you?”

I forget exactly what happened after but I know that he fought the thing. He had brought a knife with him on the walk. The thing couldn’t be hurt by weapons, though, the only thing that hurt the creature was when Fletcher accidentally cut himself with the knife while trying to fight it. It paused when he drew blood and looked like it bowed to him. So he tried it again, on purpose this time, and the monster stayed still. Eventually, it pounced again and they kept fighting only that time it was starting to get hurt by the knife. Fletcher thought that maybe if he hurt himself more, he’d be able to hurt it more. It worked for a bit but just when he thought he was winning, the thing grew stronger than before. Fletcher’s blood was _feeding_ it. He tried to get the monster to pause once more but it wouldn’t work that time. Then, it went up on what must have been its hindlegs, ready to crush Fletcher, when he stood still and dropped the knife.

There’s a bit of a gap in the story, sorry, the next thing we’re told is that the monster was buried and Fletcher swore to stay and watch over its grave because he said it would never fully leave him. Some travelers passed by and some eventually settled down and here we are today.

That’s the story! I hope you enjoyed it and that this note isn’t a bother. I’m sure you’re busy doing whatever Ladies do.

Simeon’

‘ **Interviewer: You worked under Lady Tamworth for some time, yes?**

**Dorothy: Yes, I was a kitchen maid.**

**Interviewer: Did you notice anything during those months she lived at the Abingdon Estate?**

**Dorothy: I did, yes. It was some time ago now, my memory isn’t the best, you know. She was all jumpy after she said she would move in. I thought it might be nerves, Miss Lowestoft was going to move in too and so- well I won’t say much but they weren’t just friends. I thought Tamworth might have just been eccentric, an artist maybe, but then Lowestoft moved in and I just knew- but she didn’t get better after they were both fully moved in. She had been a very lovely woman aside from her weird tendencies, she was always talking with someone and trying to make the staff feel more like family, but she was suddenly reserved. She seemed sad some days, didn’t seem to feel much most days, but she was always tired.**

**Interviewer: Was she not sleeping?**

**Dorothy: Oh she was, she slept well into the afternoon most days, actually. Just always tired.**

**Interviewer: When we first talked, you mentioned that she seemed far away near the end. Can you tell me more about that?**

**Dorothy: I think she said something about her hands not being hers? I can’t really remember, I was much younger then and I’m far too old to remember now. I’m sorry I’m not much help. What are you doing this for anyway?**

**Interviewer: A family member hired me to try and figure out more. Thank you for your time.** ’

‘June 20th, 188-

We are finally all moved in properly and I really should be more excited than I am. I want to be excited yet I can’t be. I find myself completely unable to be as excited as I should be. I have been sleeping non-stop but sleeping fitfully and Calliope has noticed. She is worried for me which makes me feel ill and I don’t know why. I don’t want her to worry about me. 

I don’t want anything other than to finally feel rested.

I don’t even have the energy to write what I’ve been feeling. I guess I should mention that I’ve been having nightmares of that thing in the basement. Nothing ever happens, really, it just taunts me. It seems fitting somehow. Like I deserve it.

That note Simeon sent me is still sitting on my nightstand, if I find the energy I’ll try to read it.’

‘June 27th, 188-

Calliope keeps asking if I’m alright and I _keep_ telling her I’m fine. She doesn’t believe me. ~~She shouldn’t.~~ I just need her to be quiet. I can’t focus anymore. I am trying to sort out all the affairs of the estate and when I _can_ force myself out of bed I find myself crawling right back in.

It feels like there’s something watching me, feeding off the energy I don’t have, laughing at my suffering. I can’t think of a reason why I would feel like this.  
~~Is this what insanity feels like?~~ ’

‘I lost track of the days and I could ask Calliope but I don’t want to bother her. I’ve been enough of a bother already. I dragged her all the way to another country in the middle of bleeding _nowhere_ for a lousy attempt at living a life we legally and morally cannot. She’s started to take on my responsibilities because I can barely pull myself out of bed. She’s forgone any formalities and now spends nights in my bed trying to comfort me. She must despise me. I would despise me.

I do despise me.’

_‘Doctor Cooper,_

_You know I would not write to you unless I found it dire. I believe my dear Frances is unwell, she nearly completely refuses to get out of bed. She doesn’t seem to have a fever but this is so unlike her. She is constantly unfocused and uncaring. She has told me that she wishes she could have the energy she used to, the focus and the care she had only a few months ago. She was excited to explore Abingdon Estate at first but all wonder was drained from her. She hardly eats, too._

_I know it will be a long journey but I trust no one but you with this._

_Sincerely,_

_Calliope Lowestoft’_

‘She called the doctor on me. I’m both mad at her and not. I should speak with a doctor but I loathe that ~~she wasted her time on me~~ she went behind my back. At least it was Dr. Cooper she wrote. He is like us so we won’t need to worry about appearing like our relationship is purely platonic. He will surely have an interesting time with me. My hands aren’t my own anymore. I would dare say that I am completely detached from my body. I am floating away from it and something is wrapping around my soul to pull it further away. I am beginning to wonder what my body will do once I am gone.’

‘Calliope finally read me the note Simeon sent. It was about the village’s founder. I think my messy writing and blots of ink will go to show how I am shaking as I write. That beast that Fletcher Borthwick fought...that is the creature that was in the basement in my dream. And I am beginning to question if that night truly was just a dream.

I feel like I am going to be sick.’

‘July 1st, 188-

No. No no. No no no no no no no. _NO_! I am not strong enough to do this. It is _screaming_ at me. Whispering in my ear and screaming into my soul which it is pulling farther and farther away- It is _suffocating_ me and feeding off my flesh before I have passed out. I need to-

I need to-

I need to sleep.’

‘188-, July 5

Frances is worrying me. I am doing my best to comfort her and help her but she is refusing and is angry at me for helping with the estate affairs. She takes hours to fall asleep and shakes at night before waking up well into the afternoon far from well rested. She seems to worry about absolutely everything and has the drive to fix absolutely nothing. I want to help but I don’t know how. Dr. Cooper said that he has seen this sort of reaction from soldiers returning from war and I fear what war she may be battling within her mind.

I shall try to pull her out of the house today. The garden is looking lovelier than ever. I don’t care if she has the energy to properly dress or converse, I just want to spend time with her.’

‘188-, July 7

She has not moved. She breathes but she does not move. I have tried to pull her out of bed but something holds her in place. She looks as if she has cried too many tears and cannot cry any more.

I am worried about her.’

‘188-, July 8

I spotted Oscar Jones sneaking out of the basement in the middle of the night. I could not sleep and had decided to take a quick walk about the house when I saw him. I am incredibly suspicious of him.’

‘188-, July 9

He has no sons. Oscar Jones is not the son of another Oscar Jones. I asked one of the kitchen maids, Dorothy I believe, and she told me that her mother said that she too worked with the same man who Dorothy now works with and who I last night saw exiting the basement Frances and I was warned against entering. That man, who appears younger than Frances and I, has been here since before _1830_ supposedly and I have reason to believe that rumor.

I do not trust him in the slightest. I don’t know how but I think he is the cause of Frances’ state. I know that Frances must believe that the monster from the tale that the young boy sent must be to blame but she has always found myths to be a better way to explain the unknown. Were I in charge here I would fire him but Frances would hate the idea. ~~She’s consistently too attached.~~ ’

‘I write this with the plans to burn this, I cannot let Lady Tamworth and her…“ _friend_ ” know of my involvement. Though, I am worried that Lowestoft is on to me. Despite that, _he_ says that those _things_ in _my_ house will be gone soon and that I will live to see the next century, likely the next millenia. I will have to be careful around Lowestoft and if she proves troublesome I may have to...dispose...of her.

It does not weigh too heavily on my soul. I have committed more than enough sins to reserve me a place in hell besides Lucifer himself. I must question if what I am doing even counts as sinning? I am only removing the unfit, unwell, and _demonic_ from places of power. I am doing God’s job for him, really.’

‘188-, July 12

Jones is up to something, and tonight I plan to find out what. I will sleep in my room for the first time in months so as to not wake Frances.’

‘June 12th, 188-

I suppose I must thank Calliope for forcing me to remember the date when she noticed I couldn’t do it myself. That is besides the point. The thing in my dreams taunts me and tonight I must face it. I do not care what happens to me but I must know what is wrong with me.’

‘November 19th, 1918

With the Great War done, I am forced to reassess many aspects of my life. I am lucky to have made it this far and I will never stop being thankful for the life Calliope and I have been allowed to live together. I have reflected on the events that nearly brought both of us to our end and have decided to use this as my final testament on that night. Here, I will finally face those demons I killed long ago.

The night of June 12th, 188-, was a warm night as most nights in June are. I hadn’t been able to sleep at all that night. I dragged myself out of bed, limbs and muscles screaming at me to stop, sore from lack of use and proper rest for weeks on end. I lit a candle, hands shaking from either nerves of tiredness but I couldn’t know for sure. As the match flame burst to life and the wick snatched a portion of the fire away from it I squinted against the too bright light. The candle just barely illuminated half the room as I painfully dressed myself in- if I remember correctly- riding pants along with a man’s shirt and coat. My boots were even more difficult to put on, my back screaming at me in protest. Eventually though, I managed to dress myself and pull my hair, dirty from days unable to move, into a shoddy bun. I always hated my hair long, it would get in the way of the most basic activities and having it put up properly would mean I would have to be careful so it wouldn’t fall out of the style. Just before exiting my room, I grabbed a dagger that I kept in my nightstand drawer.

I krept down the stairs, trying not to make too much noise, fearful of awakening someone and getting scolded like a child. I made my way to the kitchen to find the basement door slightly ajar. My hand tightened around the dagger and I used my foot to push the door open enough for me to walk through it. I made my way downstairs once more, careful to not make a sound to hold off the beast being aware of my presence. As I neared the bottom, I heard voices, neither belonging to the creature. I waited behind a wall.

“-ere is no records of an Oscar Jones Senior _but_ the staff claims you’ve worked here before most of them meaning it was not your father and _here_ is a newspaper clipping from _1867_ , far before someone your age would be an Estate Steward, claiming that Estate Steward _Oscar Jones_ was accused of dealing with the Devil when Lord Abingdon supposedly went insane,” it was Calliope. Her words were sharp as she questioned the other voice.

“There’s a _what?_ ” Oscar bit back. There was the sound of footsteps and a paper being snatched from someone’s hand, “Dammit.” He muttered to himself and began, likely, to pace, “Hell, this messes the _whole thing_ up. It’s _your_ fault! You and your bloody queer ‘friend’ had to go and ruin it all! You are not fooling anyone, you two! Perhaps you’re ignored when you are surrounded by people too kind to say anything or by damned opera singers or whatever you posh people do but I will _not_ let you two come in here and infect us with your filth! I have worked hard to keep this village clean, using every misfit, every madman, and every _thing_ like you that comes galavanting off to the country to feed _him_ so that I can-”

“ _Him_? Who is this him you speak of? Are you colluding with someone else? Is this some big plot to-” This time, instead of being cut off by the other, Calliope was cut off by the sound of a pistol cocking. She scoffed, followed by the brief sound of fabric rustling and another pistol being cocked. I let out a gasp and the room went silent. A huff was let out by Oscar before he said lowly, “I think we have a guest.”

I didn’t have much of an option, I took a breath and stepped out from my hiding place. Oscar snarled at me and, keeping his gun pointed at Calliope, said, “I see you both had the same idiotic idea.”

I let out a quiet and shocked, “You? You were behind this? But- but you can’t be! That’s impossible, there’s no way you could have done this to me!” As my voice grew so too did my desperation.

He let out a laugh, cackling at my stuttering speech and desperate tone, “Oh you can’t give me all the credit. I just shoved you down the path and led you right to _him_ , but _he_ did all the work.”

As if on cue, the creature made its presence known with a deep, guttural chuckle. I looked around frantically for the creature while Oscar smiled in response to it. Calliope did not move. It looked like she couldn’t hear it.

“What do you want with me?” I had asked it, voice and body shaking.

“What I want with everyone,” it droned, “To feast.”

“Why me?” At that, Calliope looked to me with a face of confusion. She was definitely not hearing the thing. She opened her mouth and asked softly, “Who are you talking to?”

The beast continued anyway, “You were susceptible. _Weak_.” I felt its voice in my chest.

“Frances, _who_ are you talking to?” Calliope raised her voice a small amount to get my attention. I stuttered back to her, “The _thing_ \- the- the-”

“The Beast from Between,” Oscar- it- they _both_ said. Oscar was making the sounds, opening his mouth and speaking, the thing- the Beast, was the voice coming out though. “Feeding off of the damned,” Oscar shouldn’t have been physically capable of making those sounds, “Infecting the weak and watching them crumble.”

Calliope kept her pistol trained on Oscar as he began to pace awkwardly about the basement. His movements were stiff and unnatural, as if he was unused to his body. Calliope spoke, trying to keep her voice steady, “What do you mean by ‘feeding’? What- is _that_ what happened to Lord Abingdon?”

Oscar laughed again, “Of course it is! He was a sad man, not a mad one. But once I got a hold of him, twisted his mind, ate at his soul, he was unrecognizable as the respectable man he was before.”

“You drove him insane,” realization dawned on her face, “You drove him insane for what? Why did _he_ get chosen?”

“No one would miss him, obviously! He cut himself off from everyone, was always too _kind_ to everyone. He never behaved properly, he had to go!”

“So what,” I began, starting to feel faint, “I’m just the next in a long line of sacrifices to some demon?”

“Right on the mark! You’re smarter than he thought you’d be. Too smart for your own good too, you shouldn’t have been able to put this together at all. It’s a shame, you would have been fun to feast on.” Oscar, the Beast, growled. He took a step towards me and Calliope, who had started to drop her gun, immediately aimed it at Oscar’s head. She growled back at him, “Don’t touch her.”

“You disgust him, you know. I personally don’t care what he gives me but when I’m using him right now, I can feel it all. He hates that you love her. I love it, the love makes it all the more interesting, but his hate for you boils deep inside him. He wants to see you suffer, and really,” he still had the pistol in his hand which I had ignored when the Beast took over Oscar, “who am I to ignore the wills of such a gracious host?”

A gunshot rang out and a scream of pain quickly followed. My memory blurs but I remember clearly the shout and the image of Calliope on the ground, clutching at her leg as blood seeped out from underneath her fingers. It made me sick. The next thing I knew, Oscar was in front of me, the barrel of the pistol in his mouth and a wicked smile forming around it.

“It is such a shame that I have to kill him to get out,” I stared into his eyes and for the briefest moment, I saw Oscar return. His face morphed to one of horror and he began to try and move his hand away but before he could, another shot rang out. My ears rang and I stumbled back as he slumped to the ground, bits of brain and skull falling onto the floor. Suddenly, an entity only described as a lack of light was drawing itself out of the corpse and my world went black.

I woke up to nothingness. I was floating in nothingness. I couldn’t feel my body. I was both weightless and weighing infinitely. Surrounded by everything and nothing. Then the creature spoke, the sound coming from everywhere and nowhere, from within my body and without it, “You proved difficult.”

“What are you?”

“Would it help if I answered?”

I thought for a moment. I didn’t answer. Instead, I asked another question, “Why me?”

“I told you already.”

“You hardly answered.”

It giggled, _giggled_ , “You are always worried, hiding, and you always need to prove that you’re a good person. You worry too much. It makes you weak. It was so easy to get inside your mind that I almost went ahead and molded it completely. I could make you do anything I want. You are so easily tempted by your own hate, so drawn to the nothingness, it festers in you like an open wound. All I had to do was give you a small push and weeds took root in your heart, grew in your lungs, tore apart your ribs-”

As it spoke, I began to feel it, the _pain_. My chest felt heavy and I couldn’t breathe. I coughed and felt blood fill my lungs as they were punctured by thorns. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t _do_ anything except float in place and feel myself suffocate. The pain grew and the Beast laughed and laughed. My chest tightened and in one sharp stab of pain, something within me shattered. A pain I could not describe and have never felt since that day filled my body and I could not make sound but I _needed_ to scream.

“-all while you could do nothing.” It continued to taunt, “But that would be too kind to you, wouldn’t it? I have heard your prayers at night, there is no God to answer them, only me, and I know how you wish to know that you are alive even if it means dying.” A pause. “Do you think you deserve to die?”

“No.”

“Liar.” It let out what must have been its version of a breath, “Why else would you put yourself through so many stunts, dress all wrong and beg for attention? Your little lover warned you to be careful here, did she not? No one puts as much focus on not getting hurt if they haven’t a reason to fear it, so you’ve given her reason to fear you injuring yourself. I chose you because you were already half-way gone. The world hated you so you hated yourself. When the void called to you, you answered and plunged headfirst.”

The pain had not ceased, in fact it had grown. My lungs had filled with weeds and blood and choked me from the inside out.

“You asked what I am, I am nothing. I am the nothingness you feel and you fear. I have been here since the beginning and will be here long after you have gone. By your own hand or by mine you will succumb to me and it will hurt.”

“I-” it was a struggle to speak. There was no air around me for me to breathe and I still struggled to get a breath, “I am not weak.” It barked a laugh, I persisted, “I have not fallen yet-”

“You will.”

“-And I will not let you pull me down.”

“You cannot doubt a part of yourself.”

“You are not a part of me!” I managed to shout.

“As I told you, I have been here since the beginning.”

“That changes nothing,” the weeds started to creep up my throat. “You are not a part of me and never will be. Nothing as foul as you could be a part of a person. If you have been here since the start then you know that I have beaten you before and I will do it again.”

Silence hung in the air. The weeds stopped growing for just a moment. The Beast spoke again, “You can try.”

Then, I was blinded by light. I squinted as I opened my eyes. My head was pounding and I remember groaning as I sat up. There was a hand below my head and a gentle presence above it.

“Frances, my love, are you alright?” Soft and sweet. Calliope. Her warmth was a welcome one after the nothingness of whatever I had just left. I curled into her and let myself just be held for a moment. A moment later, the smell of iron arrived at my nose and I sat up quickly once I remembered the two gunshot which was a very poor idea as my vision went spotty.

I woke up hours later with Dr. Cooper leaning over me. He told me the Calliope was alright but he refused to tell me what all he knew. I didn’t care much by that point as the Beast’s words were echoing in my head.

_“You will try.”_

Even years later, even after watching the entire world itself go to war, I still see it. In my dreams I will often find myself once more choking on the weeds planted in my heart. It will taunt me, try to start a conversation. Every so often, when I am feeling particularly poorly, I will indulge it. I will usually acknowledge its presence but not speak to it. I always tell Calliope of the dreams. She will hold me when I cannot sleep, pull me out of bed when I am not up before noon, and simply sit with me when I haven’t the energy to do much else. I cannot thank her enough for it. She tells me that it isn’t a bother, that she would rather I feel better but still enjoys knowing that she is helping me and despite what the Beast told me, despite what it keeps telling me…

I believe her.’


End file.
